


Therapy

by LadyGreyWrites



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctor/Patient, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7936474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGreyWrites/pseuds/LadyGreyWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Female patient is undergoing physical therapy after a car accident and is quite bitter and angry because of it.</p><p>Male therapist is walking a fine line one more patient complaint about his rotten bedside manner and he's fired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therapy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jennilynn411](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennilynn411/gifts), [BlueEyesBlueSkies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyesBlueSkies/gifts).



> Thanks, Jennilynn411, for the prompt!

Walda glanced at her watch again. What was it with the health care system and ridiculously late appointments?

She pulled another outdated issue of In Touch magazine off the waiting room table, reading the headlines. ‘Sisters in crisis: humiliated by their men.’ _Gods, did anyone still care about the Sand sisters? Yes, they all had nice butts and big boobs to go with their dark, exotic looks, but the whole family was train wreck central._  'Cersei Lannister exclusive: her son’s final words.'  _Cry me a river._ ‘Sansa’s fake marriage EXPOSED! It was all a business deal.’ Walda frowned. She did actually feel a bit sorry for Sansa. The poor girl was from the North and had gotten caught up in all the glitz and glamour of Kings Landing at a young age.  

Walda tossed the magazine back onto the table. She rolled her shoulders back a few times, trying to loosen up the joints that had been locked and painful for months now. _Stupid Lancel._ Her sister’s husband had been drinking and crashed the car. Of course, Lancel and Ami were fine – it was just Walda who had to live with constant pain and reduced mobility. She had just opened her own bakery but had to hire help to take care of all the baking because she just couldn’t handle the physical requirements of it anymore. She was barely breaking even and hadn’t paid her grandfather rent in months. Oh and don’t even get Walda started on how her grandfather required rent payments from all his grandchildren.

She hoped this new physiotherapist would be able to make a difference. She had seen specialist after specialist, but they all told her to lose weight. _Hello? I was in a car accident?_ But that was doctors for you. _Broken leg? Better lose weight. Migraines? They might be less debilitating if you lose weight. Acne? It must be your diet._ Yes, she could stand to lose some weight, but she went to the gym almost every day (or at least she did before the accident) and was in way better shape than her scrawny little cousins. She just had a lot of taste testing to do in the bakery. And the tarts were just _so delicious._

Dr. Qyburn had been willing to treat her, but he wanted to try some new experimental treatment that he had just come up with, and Walda wasn’t quite that desperate yet. But if this Roose Bolton guy couldn’t help her, maybe she would consider Qyburn’s offer…

“Walda Frey?”

The male receptionist, Ramsay, gave Walda the creeps. And she wasn’t the only one. When she had looked up the clinic on RateYourHealthPractitioner.com, several patients had mentioned the odd receptionist, one even saying, “He makes my skin crawl.” The reviews on Roose Bolton weren’t terribly flattering either – words like rude, abrupt, and cold appeared in review after review. Apparently, the guy had no bedside manner, but he got results. Walda was counting on it.

Walda stood and the receptionist smiled, a big toothy grin that didn’t reach his eyes and made him look as if he had just escaped the loony bin.

“I’ll take you to your treatment room,” he said, and led Walda down the hallway. They passed several doors until finally he stopped and pushed one open, motioning for Walda to enter. It was a small room, painted in that pale sickly green so typical of doctor offices, and held an adjustable treatment bed, wooden chair, a stool on wheels and small desk. Walda sat on the chair.

“Roose will be in shortly,” Ramsay said and closed the door as he left.

*****

Roose had been summoned into Dr. Ned’s office _again._ It was like fucking high school all over again. Dr. Ned was the chiropractor and managing partner of the clinic, and he was always up in everyone’s business even though he didn’t ever have a sniff of what was going on.

Roose sat stiffly in his chair, keeping his face shuttered as Ned berated him.

“We’ve had several patient complaints, Roose. It’s unacceptable. Your bedside manner is atrocious,” Ned was saying.

Roose tilted his head to the side. “And were any of these complaints about the ineffectiveness of the treatment?”

Ned paused. “Well, no,” he said, looking uncomfortable, “but no one likes being belittled and ridiculed when they come into the office for treatment.”

“They don’t like feeling better? Living with no pain?” Roose asked, deadpan.

Ned ignored him and kept talking. “Some of the GPs have stopped referring patients to our clinic. Is it really necessary for the treatments to be so painful?”

Roose sighed. “To get results, yes.”

“Well, none of your patients seem to come back after the first appointment,” Ned finished.

“I think that’s the point?” Roose was enraged under his calm exterior. He was so sick of Doctor fucking Ned telling him how to do his job.

“Roose. One more complaint and you’ll have to move your practice elsewhere. Is that understood?”

Roose stood. “Yes, Ned.” He forced himself to nod politely at Ned before leaving the office. He pushed the down button on the elevator and waited impatiently until the doors opened. He stepped inside and once the doors closed behind him, he allowed his irritation to bleed through his mask of indifference and angrily paced in the small space. The ding of the elevator announced that he had arrived at his floor, and when the doors opened, his face was calm, body loose; his rage pushed down into a secret place where no one would ever see it.

Roose glanced down at his watch as he made his way to the front desk. He hated being late for patient appointments. _Fucking Ned Stark._

Ramsay handed him a chart. “Car accident. Says she has shoulder pain. Can’t work. Have fun finding her shoulder under all that padding,” Ramsay said, puffing out his cheeks and holding his hands out to indicate the girth of the patient.

Roose stared at his son. He had hoped a job would smarten Ramsay up, but his son was still a bit of an idiot. Roose often wondered if Ramsay was a punishment sent down from the gods for having a one night stand with a heroin-addicted stripper.

He couldn’t reprimand his son in the waiting room full of patients. He’d have to talk to him at home. Roose turned and walked down to the treatment room, flipping through the file as he walked.

 _Walda Frey._ Her file was nearly an inch thick. How many specialists had she already seen? Roose sighed. He spent most his day being asked to write doctors notes and workers compensation reports. Lots of patients went from clinic to clinic, getting more letters so they didn’t have to return to work. It disgusted Roose.

He pushed open the door to the treatment room, entered, and closed the door behind him.

“Walda, I presume?”

The young woman nodded, and looked at him curiously with big brown eyes. Roose sat on his stool and pretended to glance through her file as he studied her out of the corner of his eye. Loose blond curls framed her pretty face and cascaded down her back. She was certainly _abundant_ but Roose didn’t think she warranted Ramsay’s ridicule.

“Tell me about your car accident,” he said, looking up to meet her eyes. Her body language changed immediately. _Gods, had he pissed off his patient already?_

“Didn’t you read my file?” she asked sharply.

Roose felt a flare of annoyance but breathed in and exhaled slowly, reminding himself that he couldn’t afford another complaint.

“I read your file,” he lied.

“Why do I have to go over this again? Do you know how many specialists I’ve already explained this to? It should all be in that file,” she said, nodding to the file folder in Roose’s hands.

He sighed and closed the folder, laying it on the desk.

“And did any of those specialists help you?” he asked, fighting hard to keep the contempt out of his voice.

Walda paused, looking somewhat abashed. “No,” she admitted.

“That’s why I need to hear it from you,” Roose said, taking the folder and tossing it into the wastebin. “Obviously, the specialists who took all these notes were idiots.”

Walda stared at him.

“The car accident?” he reminded her.

She really _had_ told the story many times. Roose didn’t have to ask her any questions, because her accounting included all the details he would have asked about: where and how she was sitting in the vehicle, what direction the impact came from, when the pain started, what made it worse, what made it better, whether there was numbness in her fingers.

“Otherwise, your health is good?” he asked.

Walda stiffened with annoyance again. “Yes,” she said with a somewhat heated tone.

Roose ignored it. “And what is your diet like?”

*****

 _Not this again._ Walda pursed her lips. “What does that have to do with anything?” she asked, annoyed.

Roose took a deep breath before answering. “Certain foods cause inflammation, which could be worsening your symptoms. I can give you a list of what to avoid.”

 _Oh._ Maybe she shouldn’t have judged him so quickly.

“And are you physically active?”

Or maybe she was _perfectly_ justified in her judgement.

Walda scowled. “I suppose you’re going to tell me to lose weight and that will solve all my problems,” she spat out.

Roose took another deep breath, as if he had to calm himself before responding to her. “No, it’s just that physio requires at-home exercises, so if you are already in the habit of working out, it’s to your advantage.”

“Oh.” Walda felt bad. Roose was so cute in his little black hipster glasses, and he seemed to be trying so hard to not upset her. “I’m sorry,” she said, “It’s just that—“

“Doctors are morons?”

Walda giggled. “Yes.”

“To answer your question, I do have a gym membership but haven’t used it since the accident,” she said.

Roose pulled a notebook out of the desk drawer and jotted down some notes. He really was a cutie, Walda thought. The sleeves of his grey dress shirt were rolled up, and Walda liked how the muscles in his forearm flexed as he wrote. Forearms were sexy. He glanced up at her over his glasses then, almost as if he was reading her mind. Well, maybe not, but he definitely caught her staring. The corner of his mouth twitched a little and he looked back down at his notes once more before standing.

“Ok. Let’s check out your range of motion.” He patted the treatment bed, and waited expectantly. She hopped up onto the bed.

Roose moved behind her and had her move her neck in different directions, and then her arms and shoulders. After each motion test, he made little grunting or humming noises that sounded neither negative or positive.

“All right, one more thing. I’m going to hold your shoulders in an elevated position and I want you to tell me if you start to feel any tingling or numbness in your fingers.”

Roose positioned her arms at 90 degree angles and grasped her by her forearms. Walda felt her heart flutter as he pushed his chest up against her back before lifting up on her arms, elevating her shoulders. What was she supposed to be feeling again? She definitely felt _tingly._ Gods, he felt good against her back.

“Walda?” he asked. His breath on her neck made her shiver a little. And why hadn’t she noticed his voice before? It was magnificent. She could imagine him reading out loud from some of those dirty novels that Ami had given her and—

“Oh!” Walda exclaimed. “My fingers are all pins and needly!” To her disappointment, Roose released her arms and moved back to his stool to jot down some more notes.

“Which fingers?” he asked. She pointed to her left pinky and ring fingers. He nodded and took more notes.

Roose reached into the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out a navy blue gown. “Top and bra off, gown opens in the back. I'd like you on your back. I’ll knock before I come back in.”

Roose slipped out and closed the door behind him.

*****

Roose walked to the front desk to see if Ramsay had any messages for him.

“Father, there was a phone call for you,” Ramsay said. “A patient by the name of Jennilynn? She wanted an appointment for today but I told her you were booked solid all week. She seemed to think if you knew who it was, you would fit her in?”

Roose smirked. “Book her as my last appointment of the day.” Jennilynn often booked appointments with him, claiming various aches and pains. He was fairly sure there was nothing wrong with her, but she seemed to enjoy when he manipulated her limbs. She also had the most _disturbed_ sense of humour, which Roose found mildly interesting, so he went along with it. At least he knew she wouldn’t file a complaint against him.

Roose headed back to the treatment room. He knocked lightly on the door before entering. Walda was lying supine on the treatment bed, eyes closed and fingers laced together over her abdomen. He noted that she had folded her sweater and bra neatly and left them on the chair. He paused for a moment to appreciate the hot pink lacy bra. He thought it suited her and tried very hard not to think about how amazing her melon-sized tits would look in the pink lace.

Roose took a seat on his stool and rolled so he was behind her head. “Lift,” he said, putting his hands under her head and pulling her hair aside so he didn’t accidentally pull on it. _Gods, she had a lot of hair._ He dug his fingers into the scalene muscles in her neck, and wasn’t surprised when she whimpered a little. He didn’t ease up. In fact, he dug in a little deeper and watched Walda’s pretty features contort in pain. She also made the most _interesting_ little breathy noises.

He kept working the muscles until the tension in her face eased. From the way she reacted to the scalene massage, plus the numbness in her fingers, he had his suspicions of what the problem was, and just needed to check one more thing to confirm.

Roose slid his fingers over her collarbones and pectoral muscles to find the first rib. Just as he suspected, it was out. He used one hand to push it down and took her arm in his other hand and moved it back behind her head. He moved her through a few different mobilization techniques. He couldn’t help but notice that her cheeks were nicely flushed and she was still making those lovely little noises. Noises that made his dick ache.

“Your first rib was elevated,” he explained to her. “It can cause all sorts of problems – frozen shoulder, tingly fingers, neck pain, headaches. I’ve mobilized it, but you’ll need to do lots of stretching and strengthening exercises so it doesn’t get pulled out again. I'll show you what to do.”

Roose helped Walda up to sitting and stood behind her to maneuver her arms and shoulders into different stretches. He pushed his body into hers a little more than he needed to, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was just so _lush_. He could just imagine how great it would feel to sink into all that softness and— _gods, did Walda just moan?_ Roose realized he had put Walda into a rather compromising position. He was pressed up against her and had his face buried in her hair and his arm held her just below her ample breasts. _How in hells did that happen_ , he wondered, shaking his head a little.

Roose backed away from her and was glad her back was to him so she couldn’t see his raging hard on. He cleared his throat and made his way to the door, keeping his back to her. He murmured something about not forgetting to keep up on her stretching and to make another appointment if needed before slipping out the door and into the privacy of his office.

*****

It was nearly two weeks later when Ramsay mentioned to Roose that Walda had called the office. Roose was a bit disturbed by the little stir of excitement that he felt when he heard. “Did she book another appointment?” Roose asked, trying to keep any sign of eagerness out of his voice.

“No,” Ramsay said. “She said she’s feeling totally fine and won’t be needing any more appointments.”

“Oh,” Roose said, deflating a bit. “I suppose that’s a good thing.”

Ramsay gave him a strange look before continuing. “She said she’s going to drop by later today with a thank you gift for you. She wanted to know what kind of tarts you liked.”

“Oh.” Roose said again, feeling foolish and fighting to keep a grin from spreading across his face. He walked back to his office and closed the door, finally allowing his lips to twist into a pleased smile. He'd enjoy shoving those tarts up Ned's arrogant ass. Right after he figured out how to get Walda to meet him somewhere outside of the office.

Roose suspected he was going to become oddly fond of Walda Frey.

**Author's Note:**

> I used actual headlines from In Touch magazine covers and just substituted in some Westerosi celebrities.


End file.
